It was a fine day in Silverhand, one where the people went out for a walk and the shadows discreetly slinked behind rays of hope. Here and there would repeat the perfunctory drone of work and talk, the smother of sounds that could only be described as, for lack of a better word, life. There was one person among the rest who hid away, cloaked in burdens below the ground. Falksi was quite happy really--to be alone, to have nothing but the stone, the scratch of a quill on paper, and the hissss of the cauldrons as they fermented away at ingredients.
She had previously been in the town, back before Arvik had fallen and Asmund was officially declared as a fallen alliance. Confused by the sudden impulse, she merged among the town folk, completing only as much as she needed to complete. The rumour of evil from the town didn't really hit a chord with her. Any of her old friends would find no hesitation in slitting the throat of a Silverhand member, but in them she saw not the truth of the rumour, but a falsity which surprised her and enlightened her. It was a wonderful place, with wonderful people of diverse personality--you could have your kind "friend of everybody" type of person, but just as easily run into a creaky old man or woman who threw the nearest possible object at you if you so much looked at them funny. It was quite endearing really. If there was one thing that remained the same in between all towns, it was the crankiness of the elderly, she thought.
Never did she settle down. Coach P, a joking name that she commonly referred to Pisquallie as, marveled at her obstinacy, especially in building a house. She flaunted her excuses like a prize, content to live in the cramped inn room and wander wherever she pleased. It didn't last long. After a critical injury to her arms, which entirely hindered the movement of her wrists for moons, she became transparent, distancing herself from every friend she had made before leaving suddenly. Falksi could never forget the letter she received from her dear friend Misty the same day.
Why? Why did you leave without telling us?
She responded with yet another one of her infamous excuses and transitioned to Sunstone, a small town with inspiring dreams. She left them in the dust so soon after that she hadn't even had time to settle in--in fact, all of the belongings that she had owned since Arvik were stolen, leaving her with nothing to hold but her name and old ties. Those old ties drew her back to Auru, and she spent a painful moon brewing with no rest before the official wedding of the High King and Queen, Tee and Jedoi. Refusing to show for the wedding, she packed her sparse belongings one last time--just a few brewing stands, some herbs, and a cauldron--and escaped to the streets of Aladra again. Coach P met her, almost expectantly, and she couldn't do much but grimace and pat the man on the shoulder weakly as he led her to the portal. "It's nice to be back," she had said, meaning every word but realising how hollow it sounded.
His eyes glinted mischievously. "You took a while."
And so she thought, perhaps this time would be different. Her original intended purpose was to create an alcohol caravan and travel the world, but it seemed a poor excuse even for herself. There was something else that led her back to this town, and it was not malice toward her previous allies, not prosperity or beauty or permanence. It was for the people who shifted in the sunlight, their hands working, their hearts hoping brighter than the stars the rays of the sun ever could.
She opened the trapdoor above her head. With the tournament over, and brewing not an immediate concern, her poor excuse expired. The scent of wines and ales drifted into the brisk Kalrosian wind, down into the town and around the keep. Falksi breathed in deep, letting the dappled light through the branches and shop cover warm her face. She whooped and jumped over the stall, pivoting smoothly on one hand to land on the other side. Grass poked between her toes, tickling her feet, and she kneeled down to pick a light blue orchid, barely taller than her palm. Once it would have been the symbol of undying love or--in reference to the Aurulian memorial for the defeat of Skuhoo--a sign of past victories. Those were times to remember...and so she named it, only in confidence to herself and her thoughts--Halcyon--denoting a time or a place of happiness that has passed. Then she walked to the edge of the cliff before the Silverhand arena and released the flower, which whirled its way down until it was all but a blue smudge in a sea of green.
"...I am back."
(to those silverhand members out there--love ya'll even when you try to force me out of the inn)
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